


80. In the Principal's Office

by alley_oops, jennandanica



Series: Citadel: Sam Worthington and Ryan Kwanten [80]
Category: Actor RPF, Australian Actor RPF, Citadel (Journalfen RPG), True Blood RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-11-03
Updated: 2008-11-03
Packaged: 2018-01-15 14:21:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,289
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1307965
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alley_oops/pseuds/alley_oops, https://archiveofourown.org/users/jennandanica/pseuds/jennandanica





	80. In the Principal's Office

_**Sam and Ryan[](http://www.journalfen.net/users/kwanten/profile)[ **kwanten**](http://www.journalfen.net/users/kwanten/) : in the principal's office** _

_warning: ageplay (one party being 17) and con non-con_

Britain loves kink. Ryan knows, because he's discovered that the adult shops in London are _awesome_.  
   
He and Sam are used to packing light when it comes to toys, because there are certain things - most things, really - which are just not a good idea for customs inspectors to find in one's suitcase. Not if you're a bigshot celebrity who depends on the goodwill of the repressed public. So far in their relationship it hasn't really mattered, but Sam's shooting schedule has been so busy this trip that they simply haven't had the time to hit up Citadel together. And Ryan is antsy.  
   
So he takes advantage of the London mansion's courier service and sends a parcel to Sam on set, with express instructions that it be delivered _only_ into Sam's hands.  
   
The letter is handwritten on lined notebook paper in a painstaking scrawl:  
   
 _Dear Principal Worthington,_  
I'm sorry for acting up in class again. I know that last time my teacher said it really would be the last time. But if you give me one more chance, I know I can do better.  
-RK  
   
The wrapped parcel is about the size of a shoe box, but heavy for its size. [The paddle](http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v227/sally_simpson/Ryan/hp.jpg) inside is brown leather-covered oak, with eight holes drilled clear through. And Ryan has a bit more shopping to get done before Sam returns home.  
   
Recognizing the insignia on the courier's lapel pin, Sam signs for the package and takes it directly to his trailer. He reads the note, shifting where he stands, his costume suddenly _way_ less comfortable than it was. And then he opens the parcel, breath catching in his throat at the sight of the paddle. Fuck. He takes it out, testing the weight in his hand and admiring the craftmanship, unsure how the hell he's going to make it through the rest of the day when all he wants to do is head straight home to Ryan.

But make it through he does, the parcel tucked under his arm as he lets himself into their flat, skipping his usual _I'm home_.

Ryan has gone full schoolboy for the evening. He's wearing pressed and creased trousers and a dress shirt topped with a sweater vest. His usually-tousled hair is combed carefully off his cleanshaven face, and he's seated at the dining room table, palms flat against the wood. Calm, he's not. But he keeps still despite his nerves, waiting.

Sam takes a look in the front room, his eyes going wide for a moment when he sees Ryan. "I'll be with you in a moment," he says curtly, with every ounce of authority he can muster, before heading for their bedroom. If Ryan can go to all that trouble, he can too. He rummages through his closet, switching out his jeans for a pair of black trousers which he hasn't worn in ages and a white shirt and black suit jacket. And a black tie. He still has the pair of Oxfords he wore to the Oscars and he puts those on too, quickly running a brush through his hair before he returns to the other room. 

Christ, Ryan's never even seen [Sam in a full suit](http://citadel.mediawood.net/ebay%2023.png) before. He abruptly drops his gaze, reminding himself to get his head in the game. Standing up, he pushes his chair quietly back into the table. He keeps sneaking nervous peeks at Sam, but can't quite look at him full-on -- the intensity radiating off the man is incredible. And Ryan doesn't really know what to do with his hands, so he settles on just shoving them into his pockets.

"Mr. Kwanten," Sam says with a heavy sigh, setting the box with the paddle down on the table. "I certainly wouldn't say it's a pleasure to see you in my office again."

Protests rise to Ryan's lips in an instant. "I didn't do anything," he insists. "Miller has it in for me. She's always setting me up, just so she can criticize me in front of the class." He folds his arms across his chest and lifts his chin defiantly. "It's not my fault she hates me."  
   
" _Mrs._ Miller is not the only teacher to report having problems with you," Sam points out. "Do you really expect me to believe they all hate you and have nothing better to do with their time than 'set you up'?"

 _Shit._ Ryan bites his bottom lip, scrambling. "Maybe they feel threatened by me," he says with a shrug. "I have a lot of potential." God, what a bunch of desperate nonsense.

"Well, you're certainly not living up to it," Sam says bluntly, picking up a copy of some random script and pretending to look through it. "Your record says you've been in detention almost thirty times and we're barely halfway through the year." He glances at Ryan. "What would your father say?"

"My-- my father?" Ryan asks hesitantly. "I'm sure he's too busy to be concerned with something like this. He's a very important man," he says, his voice stronger now. And if the principal wants to read an implied threat there, then so be it.

"For someone who wrote me a note asking for another chance, you don't seem very contrite," Sam says, watching Ryan closely.

"Miller-- _Mrs._ Miller told me I had to write you an apology," Ryan mutters with a sullen roll of his eyes. "I still think this isn't fair."

Sam sighs, leaning forward to place his hands on the table in front of him. "It doesn't matter what you think. You're a student. Your sole responsibility is to do your work and respect your teachers and you seem to be having a huge problem with the second part of that."

"Maybe they're not worthy of my respect," Ryan replies, trying not to fidget. Or sweat. 

"That's not for you to decide," Sam thunders, glaring at the boy. "Your father has given us carte blanche in making sure this is the last school he has to place you in, and since it seems impossible to talk any sense into you, perhaps we should try something a little more old-fashioned," he says, pulling the paddle from the box.

Ryan's eyes widen. "You... you're not serious," he protests, falling back a step. "I'm graduating in a few months. You can't do anything to me!"

"I can make sure you don't graduate," Sam says simply. "If Mrs. Miller refuses to let you back into her class, you'll be a credit short, and if she refuses, there may well be others who decide follow suit."

 _Oh Jesus._ Ryan stares at the paddle, which fits so naturally into the principal's hand. This can't be happening.  He swallows hard. "I'm getting out of here," he says, and it sounds feeble even to his own ears. "I'm going to get away from all of you, even my father."

"Only if you graduate," Sam says, stepping back from the table. "And the only way that's going to happen is if you come over here and pull down your trousers and take your medicine like a good boy." He pauses for a moment before continuing. "And if you do that, I'll make sure your teachers take you back into class and you get your diploma."

Ryan raises his eyes to the principal's face, and begins to unbuckle his belt with trembling hands. It can't be that bad, right? And it's not like he's never been spanked before, albeit not in years. Deciding it will be better to simply get things over with, he circles the table and bends over slightly, presenting his Jockey-clad ass.

"Briefs too, Mr. Kwanten," Sam orders, unable to believe he's actually doing this, the boy in front of him the subject of far too many fantasies over the past two years. Fantasies he's never once come close to acting on.

Shocked, Ryan jerks upright. "You're mad!"

"No, what I am is holding your future in my hands," Sam says firmly. "Briefs, Mr. Kwanten."

Slowly, Ryan bends over the table again. Fuck. He's trapped. And if his friends find out what went on here today, he'll never live it down. Setting his jaw, he drags his shorts down his thighs, and shivers at the cool air on his bare skin.

"By all rights, I should give you one blow for each of your detentions," Sam says, rustling his script again. Checking Ryan's records. "But you would be hard-pressed to walk out of here so we'll halve that. Fourteen blows for twenty-eight detentions. If you maintain your position and keep quiet, I may decide not all fourteen are required."

"Fourteen!" Ryan bursts out, incredulous. He splays his hands against the table, and shakes his head. "Five. I mean, I'm sure five would be sufficient. Sir."

"What did I say?" Sam says, bringing the paddle in against Ryan's ass with a sharp crack.

"Fuck!" Ryan rocks against the table, shocked by the bright flash of pain. He'd thought they could argue some more, and maybe he could manipulate the principal into negotiating... "You... you said fourteen."

"And I said if you behaved," Sam points out, bringing the paddle in against Ryan's ass again, not quite as sharply this time, "I might stop early."

"Yes, Sir." Ryan squeezes his eyes shut and fists his hands against the table. God, this is fucking humiliating; he can't remember the last time he felt so powerless. "I'll..." he swallows hard. "I'll behave."

Even getting that from the boy alone is amazing, but Sam knows better than to stop there. He brings the paddle in against Ryan's cheeks, square across the middle, once, twice and then again, these blows easy compared to the first, Ryan's cheeks going red with white where the holes land, the sight making Sam's cock jerk and start filling.

Ryan grits his teeth and endures, determined that Principal Worthington isn't going to get another sound out of him. His face flushes hot with mortification as he realizes that his adrenaline hard-on is actually _growing_. What the fuck is that about? He prays that his shirttails will continue to cover it up, and tries like hell not to think about the powerful man behind him.

"That's five," Sam says, impressed that the boy's managing to hold his tongue. He brings the paddle in again, delivering another set of three, one right after another, his cock rigid and aching now. His eyes unable to keep from flickering to the tight pucker between the boy's cheeks. The tight pucker that keeps clenching with each and every blow. God.

It _might_ be a gasp, that little sound that escapes Ryan's lips. It's definitely not a sob, oh hell no. He grinds his teeth down into his bottom lip and rocks with the next blow, shuddering when his erection rubs against the table's edge. But when he tastes blood in his mouth, he's fucking done for. "Please," he whispers, licking his lip. Spreading his legs to try and ease the force of the blows. "Sir."

"That's eight," Sam says, but he's staring at the boy's cock, at his erection and the precome it's dripping on his office floor. "Six more," he says, swallowing hard, " _unless_..."

Christ, Ryan's not sure he can take six more without crying, and he is _not_ going to cry in front of this man. Damn it. He swipes the back of his hand over his mouth, blood scarlet on his skin when he braces his hand back on the table. "Unless what?"

"Unless you'd rather take your punishment another way," Sam says, putting his hand on the small of Ryan's back and letting his thumb press against the still clenching pucker.

Ryan jerks forward in surprise, but that touch follows him like a brand on his skin. "Oh shit. Shit," he mutters under his breath. _How does he know?_ "I haven't," he says desperately. "I know what they say about me. But I never have." Blowjobs and handjobs don't count, after all. Hell, it's a boys' school.

And here Sam thought he knew all the rumours in the school. How had this one escaped him? Of all the boys... "It's your choice," he says with a casual shrug, his cock so hard he would swear he could cut glass with it. "The paddle, or my cock." His thumb pressing a little harder.

Ryan whimpers, every nerve ending in his body lighting up at that demanding touch. "Do you... do you have lube?" he asks in a small voice. Because if not, then he will fucking take the paddle, tears be damned. It almost physically hurts to force the words out, but... "I'm scared."

"There's nothing to be scared of," Sam says, his voice softer than before, lulling the boy into giving in to him. "I'll be gentle." And he _does_ have lube: a tube of vaseline - ostensibly for chapped lips - left in his jacket pocket, thank god. He pops the cap on the tube and slicks his fingers, rubbing two around the boy's tight hole.

"Oh Christ." Ryan's knees nearly buckle in an instant and he slams his hands harder against the table, bracing himself. This feels nothing like when he fingers himself, so secretly, late at night. He moans softly, breathing hard, and rubs back against those wicked fingers.

Working his belt loose and his trousers open, Sam circles Ryan's hole with the pads of both fingers before pushing one finger slowly into him.

Ryan whimpers softly. He's horrified to hear the vulnerable sound fall from his lips, but he can't hold it back. He feels his muscles clench automatically around the invasion, and it sends a sinful thrill rushing through him. Without even thinking about it, he leans forward more, opening himself up further.

"That's it. That's perfect," Sam praises, working that single finger in and out a few times before slowly adding a second, twisting them gently into the boy, his own cock wet at the tip, throbbing roughly at the soft tight heat of that virgin hole.

"Oh god." Ryan whispers the words. The gentle touch is amazing, particularly after the harsh show of strength. His cheeks still burn but god he wants more of this, these caresses that are turning him inside-out.

Sam takes his time in opening the boy, in coaxing his body to ease, stretch, welcome that third finger, the three twisted together, pushing deep and then deeper into Ryan's hole, turned and curled so they touch there, right there. 

Ryan jerks like he's been shocked with a live wire, crying out wordlessly. Good thing no one pays attention to shouts coming from this office. He rocks back against the principal's fingers, trying desperately to get more of that touch.

"That feels good, doesn't it?" Sam says, rubbing his fingers over that same spot again and again. Every last thought of punishing the boy having fled his mind.

"Yes-- yes, Sir," Ryan whispers, nearly out of his head with the unexpected pleasure. Abruptly he reaches back and grabs the principal's wrist, stilling his movements. "Don't tell," he begs in that same soft voice. "Please."

"I won't. I promise," Sam says, the boy's plea touching him deeply. "This is between you and me.”

With a nod, Ryan lets go. He doesn't know why he believes the man - he's the enemy, isn't he? - but he does. And... this isn't so bad, really. He actually didn't know it would feel this good.

Sam eases his fingers from Ryan's body and slicks his cock with the vaseline. He steps between the boy's legs, one hand on his erection, the other on Ryan's hip, underlining the connection between them, as he guides himself into his body, the thick head breaching that still tight hole.

"Jesus Christ fuck!" Ryan shouts, tears springing into his eyes. He writhes, trying to escape, but he's pinned between that hard body and the table with nowhere to go.

"Shh," Sam whispers, hands stroking over Ryan's hips. "It's okay." He stills for a moment, letting Ryan get used to the intrusion. "It'll get better," he promises.

Ryan responds to the touch more than the words, echoes of those earlier caresses. He takes a deep breath, quieting. And it's true, the flash of pain mellows into a manageable hum. "I'm okay," he whispers, flexing his fingers against the table's surface.

"Good." Hands still on Ryan's hips, fingers stroking over the soft skin, Sam pushes deeper, each fraction of an inch slowly gained, Ryan's body easing, opening, stretching to accommodate him. "That's good." The tight velvet heat making his head swim. So far beyond anything he'd ever imagined. Ever fantasized.

 _Oh. God._ So this is what it's like. Ryan's been wondering for so long... He rocks his hips experimentally, pushing back. The movement drags a moan from his lips, and he does it again, sparks skittering up his spine.

"Oh, god," Sam murmurs under his breath, his cock throbbing hard as Ryan pushes back, taking him still deeper. "Keep going," he tells him, stilling, letting the boy do the work, set the pace, one hand sliding under him to wrap around his cock.

Ryan cries out, bucking into that warm hand, and the motion takes him all the way back, filling him. "Touch me more," he begs, reaching up and looping his arm around the man’s neck, leaning on him as he rocks faster, fucking himself. "Please!"

Sam ducks his head, kissing the side of Ryan's neck, his hand stroking, working the boy's cock in time with his movements, his own orgasm fast approaching.

It's all too much. Ryan shudders with pleasure, overwhelmed in an instant. He spills hot, clenching tight around that hard cock, filled, even as he turns his head to beg for another kiss.

Sam thrusts, once, twice, and then he's emptying himself into the boy even as he crushes their mouths together, groaning into the kiss, his hand hot and sticky. 

It's fucking ecstasy. Ryan moans, his hands restless on his lover despite the awkward angle. He feels warm and cared-for and, god help him, he feels safe.

Sam tightens his arms around Ryan, holding him close, kissing him softly, his cock still throbbing with the aftershocks. "You'll behave from now on, won't you?" he whispers, kissing the side of his throat, thinking that _next_ time he'll have the boy naked, have access to all of him.

"I don't think so." Ryan blushes and leans against the table. Those kisses on his throat could end him, surely. "If I behave then I won't see you again."

"Yes, you will," Sam promises, rocking his hips a little. "I'll let your teachers know I've decided to take a one-on-one approach with you and you're to see me weekly to follow up on your progress." Hm. "Make that twice weekly." He smiles. "But only if you're going to behave. Otherwise you'll be getting that paddle instead of my cock."

Ryan squeezes his muscles tight around said cock, and gasps as a last aftershock thrills through him. "Yes, Sir," he whispers, feeling steadier, saner than he has in a long time. Personal attention, physical affection. They're elements that have been notably missing from his life. "I'll be good for you."

"Good," Sam says, kissing the boy, reluctant to let go even as he eases out.

In an instant Ryan turns and buries his face against Sam's neck, clinging to him. The lines of the scene blur and he's a grown man with his trousers around his ankles, wrapping his arms tight around his lover. "Need you," he whispers, ignoring the mess between them. "Don't go."

"I'm not going anywhere," Sam promises, holding Ryan tight. _Not ever._  



End file.
